Rita Bloody Skeeter
by bonnjie
Summary: RSKS Kingsley spends 5 days in the ministry locked up with Rita Skeeter, fun ensues. Oneshot. Complete


Kingsley Shacklebolt calmly walked through the corridors of the 7th floor, enjoying the silence. It seemed like a miracle that this usually-bustling floor was seemingly empty.

Except for the damn scratching of Rita Skeeters acid green quill.

She had been following him for exactly 3 days, 16 hours and 43 minutes. 3 days, 16 hours and 43 minutes of pure torture. He'd hear the scratching of her acid green quill, turn around just fast enough to see her head return to the paper in her hand, looking up with him as if to say "What? I work here too?" Running the time through his mind, he wondered when he could escape to the relative safety of his flat. The time kept running through his mind. Only 2 days, 8 hours and 12 minutes of this hell left. Then his 5 day shift of horror would be over and done with.

"So, in your opinion, which do you think is better? White chocolate or dark chocolate?"

She had asked mundane questions like that over and over. He'd began to time how long she waited inbetween stupid question. Working it out in his head, he figured out that the average time between questions was 45 minutes. She'd asked him around 703 mundane questions, or so he estimated. She was making his brain drip out of his ears, he could literally feel it melting.

"Milk Chocolate."

"Thats not an option. White or Dark?"

And so it went on. Question, argument about question, sigh, answer. Question, argument, sigh, answer. Question, argument, sigh, answer.

"Dark chocolate, I suppose."

"Are you sure?"

He'd sigh again, she always asked that. Yet again, he found himself wondering how organised she was. She seemed to have a pattern. She needed to be reassured. He'd try to wander away, but as soon as he thought he'd escaped, he'd hear the 'scratch. scratch. scratch." of her acid green quill. She was like a virus, an infectious, flesh-eating virus. Or maybe she was a plague. Someone re-incarnated the bubonic plague and called it Rita bloody Elizabeth Skeeter. He wandered around, occasionally looking back to see deep blue eyes staring at him through small, black-rimmed glasses. He was beginning to wonder if she had reading glasses and glasses for other things. He was glad she wasn't wearing those sickly rhinestone-covered things. Her blonde ringlets had turned into small waves after three days without the proper charms. Kingsley occasionally saw flecks of brown in her hair, vaguely reminding him of Dorcas. How could Rita, the tarty secretary, ever remind him of Dorcas? He'd shake the thought out of his mind, thinking of how sickly she was. Sickly, scary Rita Skeeter.

3 days, 23 hours and 39 minutes in. He had given up on ever completing the report on a recent string of deaths in the South of Albania. Looking at the whiteboard in his office block, he turned to see Rita bloody Skeeter leaning against a wall, that acid green quill of hers working away while she looked up at him with those deep blue eyes. How did she do that? Returning to his work, he became frustrated with the whole thing., erasing it with the little duster that someone (probably Umbridge) had left behind.

"You missed a spot."

Jumping, he glared at her. Damn. His glare usually made others recoil, but she stood there as if he'd smiled merrily at her and wished her happy birthday. Turning back to his work, he scowled. Where was this spot! Rubbing furiously, he heard a giggle. It was like the giggle from heaven. Sweet and serene, it reminded him of Hestia. It most certainly could now have come from Rita bloody Skeeter. His mind was quite obviously decieving him. He did NOT like Rita Skeeters giggle.

"Still missed it."

He huffed, turning around and crossing his arms. She would not ruin him, oh no she wouldn't. She knew his weaknesses, she had seen him file the rubbish in his rubbish bin. He would not let her get to him. He took a step towards her, trying not to scream.

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

Elegantly, black skirt swaying slightly, she walked over to the whiteboard, pointing to a miniscule black dot in the furthest right corner of the whiteboard. Barely measuring half a millimetre across, it could have doubled as a ant. Or possibly a fly. Or maybe a earwig. Kingsley felt his heart snap in two. Rita Skeeter was the anti-christ. She had been sent by the devil him/herself (Could possibly be Umbridge?) to torture him into insanity. It was working too.

"Told you so."

4 days, 2 hours and 56 minutes in. Kingsley was sitting at his desk, dark black eyes shimmering in the flourescent light. Sitting beside him was that blonde haired demon, Rita bloody Skeeter.

"Tea or Coffee?"

Not this again. Letting out the all-too-familiar sigh, he replied.

"Coffee."

"Are you sure?"

With another sigh, he nodded. He was getting sick of her voice. It was like listening to Cliff Richards over and over again while utterly sober. If he had a tumour, he would name it Rita bloody Skeeter. If he had cancer, he would name the abnormal cells Rita. If he got blood poisoning, the needle would be Rita Skeeter.

"Kingsley?"

He shuddered, she was beginning to sound like one of those broken records on the third floor. The ones that reminded him of Kristoph. No, he would NOT think that. There was no way in hell Rita was like Kristoph. Although her deep blue eyes had reminded him of the german many a time. Non stop questions, silly conversation. She was his one-way-ticket to a mental institution. He swore if she asked another stupid question he'd go on a homocidal rampage and kill everyone within a 20 mile radius of the ministry building. It would be like that time they gave Perkins marijuana. My god, that was scary.

"What?"

"Do you like Umbridge?"

Oh. Dear. Mother of God. SHE COULD NOT POSSIBLY BE ASKING HIM THIS? WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH HER! Letting out an almight scream, he grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her as fast as he could. He'd shake sense into her! It had to work! She was insane!

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

She didn't even seem scared. She laughed loudly in his face, that laugh that reminded him of Hestia. RITA BLOODY SKEETER WAS LAUGHING AT HIM! Stopping his excessive shaking, he looked at her wavy blonde hair that looked much better disheavelled than it did in those rigid curls, deep blue eyes staring at her through small black-rimmed glasses and blue quill hanging limply in her pale white hands. Pulling her closer to him, he pressed his light brown lips to her deep red ones, forcing open her mouth and pushing his tongue into her, running it along her teeth and exploring in a desparate attempt to shut the woman up. Absentmindedly, he found himself moving closer to her and putting his hand on her cheek. He felt faint pressing back, this most certainly did not count as kissing Rita Skeeter. He gasped, keeping his tongue inside her mouth as he felt her nails running along his back.

Kingsley woke up in a small office he knew to be Rita bloody Skeeters, on the seventh floor, turning onto his back to find wavy blonde, disheavelled hair in his face. The fact that he was lying next to a partially naked Rita Skeeter in her office with her lipstick all over his neck, face and his surrounding clothes, the ones that seemed to be the only thing covering up her translucent skin and curvaceous body. That creamy skin... SItting up and withholding the wild scream that threatened to escape from his lips, he grabbed his underwear off the lampshade, quickly shoving them on and looking at the clock.

4 days, 23 hours and 59 minutes. Kingsley Shacklebolt had gone insane.


End file.
